


The Technodrome Complex

by Plastron



Series: Donatello Darkfics [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 1987), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Humiliation, Imprisonment, M/M, Multi, Pain, Public Humiliation, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plastron/pseuds/Plastron
Summary: (Sounds like a Doujinshi title, eh?)Donatello finds himself in Shredder's clutches. He's not really that worried, though, this happens from time to time... ("Didn't they just have another episode like this last season?") It'll probably end up like that time he was trapped in a telephone booth; the turtles will come and rescue him, and they'll all be home in time for pizza and some bad movies on TV.But the cuffs around him are awfully tight, and there's something about Shredder's cold gaze as he looks down at him that makes Donatello wonder if this might really be the end.
Relationships: Donatello/Others, Donatello/Shredder (TMNT)
Series: Donatello Darkfics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939588
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Business as Usual?

**Author's Note:**

> Written with the hopes that this will feel like one of those "long-lost, creepypasta-rumored" episodes... but of the 1987 TMNT cartoon. Takes place in the 1987 cartoon continuity, albeit with a very twisted, perverted bend.
> 
> I tried to write this in the sometimes cheesy (as per the era) dialogue style of the show. 
> 
> Whenever possible, I'll refer to the other turtles with their full names, as they never used the nicknames when addressing each other in the show (so Donatello wouldn't think of Raphael as "Raph," for example).
> 
> Based (kinda?) on this WIP from May-- I'll try to finish it soon! https://twitter.com/Plastron_/status/1251364241820594176/photo/1

“What do you want, Rust Bucket?!” 

The usual name-calling, in as aggressive a tone as he could muster given his situation, fell flat in the sterile, cold air. Donatello kept his eyes steely, focusing on his would-be opponent and sworn arch-nemesis…trying very hard to ignore how chilled his skin felt against the smooth floor of the bright room.

Right about now, Raphael or Michelangelo would be chiming in, piggy-backing on whatever admittedly corny name Donatello could think of to call Shred-Head, right? Or maybe Leonardo would, if he was in a particularly high-spirited mood. 

Donatello shook his head, as if that would shake off the sense of dread building in his stomach. 

_Now’s the part where Shredder’s supposed to say something in anger about “Wretched Reptiles” or “Simpering Shell-backs,” and then Leonardo says “Turtles, let’s get ‘im!” And then they fight, they win, everyone cracks a joke, and they all go home until the next time._

Shredder WAS a total joke. They’d beaten him plenty of times before. Heck, not even Krang’s enlargement chip and subsequent rampage through downtown Manhattan was enough to really cause lasting trouble for the turtles. 

_…right?_

So why did the sight of Shredder leering down at him in complete silence give Donatello the chills?

Donatello had a couple of theories about that. 

He was trussed up, completely immobilized by the (metal? Alloy? TITANIUM?) binds wrapped around him. If he weren’t so concerned with escaping, he’d have been eager to take a length of the cords home in order to study them. Reverse engineering was challenging but had its benefits. Donatello gave another experimental struggle, hesitant to let on how difficult it was for him to move in front of Shredder. 

But, as it had been for the past 2 hours, the cords were tightly pressed into his skin and wrapped around his shell, practically molded to his body to keep his arms bound to his sides. He could barely wiggle his wrists, let alone bend his arms to squirm free. The strange thing was, he could swear the cords allowed enough give to let him breath freely even though they cut into his chest and waist. His feet were bound together with a different set of metal cuffs, but upon close inspection (as close as he could get in his position), they had no seams or openings where a key or pick might fit to open them. The only thing he could do was move his neck and pull his knees apart a few inches before the cuffs around his ankles bit at his skin and bones. 

He thought back to how this all began. He’d separated from the others early on upon entering the Technodrome, and had quickly become surrounded by foot soldiers. In his haste to fight his way through the pack of kicking and punching humanoids, Donatello didn’t see the fire-hydrant-sized droids rolling up to him from behind. 

He’d felt the cold grip of the cords around him just before a searing pain overtook his nervous system…he’d blacked out, and that was how he ended up here. He must’ve been electrocuted by the droid, the likes of which were nowhere to be seen except for the binds they’d left behind.

Donatello chewed his lip as he tried fruitlessly to move his hands and slip out. It seemed as though whenever he stirred, the cords tightened around the part of him that moved, momentarily, just long and tight enough to discourage him from squirming further. Donatello weighed his options, and decided that he didn’t want to find out exactly HOW TIGHT the cords might get if he continued through the initial discomfort. Escaping would be much harder if he became separated from his hands. He gulped.

Shredder was still leering at him, but Donatello observed a slight, mirthful crinkling in the corners of his enemy’s exposed eyes; something that, indeed, gave him the chills. 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shredder provides Donatello with a damning truth.

_“What do you want, Rust Bucket?”_

“Those are bold words for a turtle without his friends or his little stick,” Shredder boomed, his raspy voice rife with amusement. 

“Hm. Shows how much you know, even after all this time… it’s a bo staff, not a stick.” Donatello replied, trying to keep his voice even, despite how difficult it was to breathe deeply in his binds. 

“Enough small talk! Ohhh, I’m going to enjoy this,” Shredder circled around Donatello, slowly, like a hungry shark circling a fishing boat. “You know, Donatello, it’s not every day I get the weakest of the herd all to myself.” 

Risking more pain, Donatello twisted to look back at the figure looming over him, gritting his teeth as he looked up over his shoulder. 

“I’m impressed you can even remember my name,” He grunted as the metal coils tightened around his arms, forcing the air from his lungs. Nevermind his planned retort… he was going to say something about an empty head… but those coils were squeezing the life out of him—was his bicep going numb?

Shredder laughed. Usually, the sound marked the half-time in a routine game; He’d often think he’d won before the turtles found some obvious flaw in his ridiculous plan—usually Donatello’s doing, thank you very much.

“Ah, ah. And you live DOWN to your reputation. The red one always had the best one liner insults; A shame I couldn’t have captured a turtle with more personality.” Shredder kicked his shell, jostling him painfully in his metal entrapment. Donatello bit his lip, determined not to show his discomfort. “I’m sure your little green friends are hardly missing you.”

“Hm…” Donatello had just enough grit in him to kick at Shredder’s ankles with both feet bound; the man stumbled a little but kept his stance. “Of course they’re looking for me. Usually I’m the one who takes apart your plans, Shred-head.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Shredder pressed a button on the wall next to him, and a screen on the smooth metal wall seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Donatello had no time to be curious about the futuristic technology, though, because he instantly heard Raphael’s voice. 

“Wherever Donatello is, I hope he’s at least working on swiping some of that sweet tech for us.” 

Donatello jerked his head up, trying to get a clear look at the screen: It appeared to be surveillance feed from the outside of the Technodrome. He could make out the fuzzy images of his three teammates, having made their way out of the large structure. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet there’s enough fancy gadgets in there to get us free cable for like, forever.” Michelangelo replied.

“No, pepperoni for brains, if Donatello can swipe the right tech, we’ll have free cable in every single room of the lair!” Raphael laughed, in what Donatello hoped was humor to cope with actual worry about him.

“Well, I just hope he thought to use his turtle com if he ran into trouble…” Leonardo sounded serious, as per usual. Donatello felt a little hope. That’s right- his turtle com was… 

He looked down, and realized his belt had been removed, as had his other gear. If his turtle com was still intact, it was nowhere accessible to him. Donatello made a note to put an automatic distress and tracking signal in each of their coms as soon as he escaped. 

“Leonardo, be real for a second. You’re talking about the same turtle who once got himself gift-wrapped by his own invention,” came Raphael’s retort.

Donatello’s heart sank. 

“Yeah, like, you think we should be worried about our compadre? He’s kinda not our top string quarterback, ya know what I mean?” Michelangelo sounded like his usual earnest and laid back self, but the words stung. 

The feed went silent, and Donatello strained to get closer to the screen, but all he could make out was their green forms getting smaller and fuzzier as they walked out of range of the cameras. 

Donatello studied a point on the floor. He was sure the footage had been tampered with. They were probably regrouping and trying to figure out the maze inside the massive structure. Yeah. It would be even more difficult, after all, without HIM to help! That was probably why they hadn’t found him yet. But they’d come. They’d burst in at any second and free him.

Donatello was startled out of his ruminations when he realized Shredder was crouching down, studying his face intently. 

For the first time since he’d been captured, Donatello felt true fear of Shredder… Suddenly, he noticed how sharp those claws on his hand guards truly were, now that they were just inches from his face. 

He looked up, catching Shredder’s eyes with his own. He could feel how wide his eyes were; he also could feel how wet his eyes were from hearing his teammates talk about him that way… 

“It seems you’ve underestimated me, Donatello. And,” With a chuckle, Shredder reached down and cupped Donatello’s chin in his hands. Donatello flinched at how warm they were compared to his own chilled and clammy skin. He didn’t want to know Shredder had warm, calloused fingers. Shredder craned Donatello’s head up slightly so he had no choice but to maintain eye contact. “…it seems you’ve over-estimated your value to your precious turtle team.” 

Donatello glared up at Shredder, afraid to blink out of fear that his tears might spill over the corners of his eyes. 

“Well? Where’s your wit now? Oh, Donatello, don’t tell me you’re already out of ideas.” 

“Y…you’re wrong,” Donatello wanted to threaten him, to call him another name using the unspoken formula for name-calling success: metallic adjective + face or upper body part + (optional) generic derogatory name. Shred-head. Tin-grin. Metal-Misfit. But whatever bit of confidence he had before failed him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. 

“It really must be my lucky day. I’ve found your soft spot already.” Shredder tsked. 

He released Donatello’s chin from his hand. The turtle used this opportunity to regain his focus. If Shredder wanted to play mind games, Donatello could compete, too.

“Heh, I don’t have any soft spots,” Donatello replied, pretending to be aloof. “I don’t know what you did to fake that footage, but your voice replication technology is impressive.” 

“Ohh, but that’s just the fun part, you filthy little mutant. I can assure you it’s not faked. And don’t bother bluffing or lying your way out of that. I know more about your little ninja team dynamics than you realize.” Shredder continued slowly pacing around Donatello, his eyes trained on the turtle’s body as he lay there bound.

“No, I don’t believe that,” Donatello made sure Shredder could see his face as he smirked up at the man. “I remember the last time you tried to bug us. An obvious device, planted in a pizza of all things. Pathetic.” He pretended it didn’t hurt as he let out a little amused laugh for good measure. 

Shredder leaned over him, feet inches from Donatello’s face. He could easily kick him if he wanted to. Donatello felt his eyes dart between the floor to Shredder’s feet to the man’s masked face. He chewed the inside of his lip, closing his eyes for a moment as he scolded himself for showing clear signs of nervousness again. 

He had to be lying. There was no way Shredder had been able to spy on them in the lair. 

His heart raced, and he swore he could feel it thrumming against the metal coils around him, thudding through his shell. He wondered if Shredder could see how fast and hard his heart was beating.

“Don’t think I don’t know about your little trips to the junk yard for spare parts. You didn’t think to check beneath your toaster, did you? And I must say, turtle, you did a very nice job patching up the television.”

“E-empty words, that could be anyone’s daily life. Even an idiot could deduce that I’m the fix-it guy in our lair.” 

“Leonardo thinks that you shirk your training too much. I heard that very awkward talk you had with him in your workshop—something about sloppy form and staying awake until morning,” Shredder imitated Leonardo’s scolding tone just a little too well for a man guessing at a private conversation. “Shall I play the audio, or have you had enough humiliation?” 

Donatello felt his heart leap into his throat. He nearly choked. Was Shredder bluffing? Maybe he was just really, really good at guessing… but… no, he couldn’t have. Donatello felt heat rush to his cheeks. 

Shredder laughed cruelly. 

“Perhaps I could even give you further insight as to exactly WHY you needn’t continue pretending your little friends will come for you.” 

Donatello felt his shoulders sag, lessening the discomfort of the tight metal coils considerably. He hadn’t realized how taut he’d kept his shoulders before; maybe he’d still held out hope that he’d be able to break free of those binds. 

“As I said,” Shredder continued, his voice deliberately jovial to mock Donatello further. “The red one with the big mouth always has the best insults and one-liners.” 

Donatello felt numb. He wasn’t sure if it was the metal biting into his body or the cold floor, or the impending threat of confirming what he’d always secretly feared.

“L-leave them out of this,” Donatello squeaked, trying not to choke up. “Raphael—we… we always make jokes about each other. Maybe you’d understand that if you had a loyal te—“ 

With a click, Shredder pressed a button and the room flooded with sound: shrill, tinny static, followed by what was unmistakably Raphael’s voice. From the clicks and pops in the sound recording, it must have been recorded from one of the bugs Shredder claimed to have planted in their lair.

“No, no-!” Donatello cried, trying to talk over the sound; to avoid hearing what was being said. He didn’t want to know. Worse, he didn’t want to know what SHREDDER already knew.

“—and that was, what, the tenth time he’s tried to make a parmesan cheese grater work? Good thing we don’t have to keep him on payroll.” 

Raphael’s sarcastic tone… there was no way Shredder could fake that, even with the impressive technology of Dimension X on his side.

“Aw, c’mon, Raphael. He’s not THAT bad. He just… overestimates himself a little bit.”

Leonardo. 

Donatello could only squeeze his eyes shut. Leonardo always relied on him. A-and Leonardo was a turtle of integrity—he’d respect hard work no matter what form it took, right?

“Fft. Please. The guy’s gone whacko. He can’t even keep up in training anymore.” 

“Well, you do have a point. I’ll talk to him, maybe I can convince him it’s…for science or…something.” Leonardo’s tone was suddenly a little bit less “boy-scout” and a little more… “Raphael.” 

“Oh, yeah! For a ‘veh-ry speshull ehx-perry-ment,’ all that load of crap.” 

Raphael had imitated and mocked him to his face before, but Donatello had never heard Raphael imitate him quite so well or so cruelly.

“Your Donatello voice is getting better and better.” Leonardo chortled.

Leonardo agreed with him. Leonardo was in on this, too.

Donatello had never heard Leonardo talk like that. He could practically hear the eye-rolling present in Leonardo’s voice. 

Donatello’s thoughts turned to Michelangelo—He was good-natured, he’d never think the same as the other two… 

And then he remembered the footage Shredder had shown him just moments before. “He’s kinda not our top string quarterback…”

The audio popped and hissed as the two turtles began laughing. The sound faded; Donatello guessed that was Raphael and Leonardo walking away from whatever specific object in their lair had been bugged. 

“That was one of thousands and thousands of conversations I’ve recorded,” Shredder gloated. “Perhaps all I need to do in order to win is release you back to your wretched reptile team. Why lift a finger when the great and burdensome Donatello can drag the rest of the team down with him.” 

“S-sto…stop…” Donatello whispered. He wished the cold, smooth floor would open up and swallow him. 

Anything to get out of this room…

…away from the disdain his teammates felt towards him… 

…away from Shredder. 

Was that really the last thing on his list? 

He felt the tears spill from his eyes, soaking his mask. 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Correct me if I'm wrong, but in the '87 show, I don't think they referred to one another as "brothers." 
> 
> Even the writers for the show (especially David Wise) and the voice cast have referred to the '87 turtles as being more like wacky roommates and close pals. They were written specifically like a sitcom cast with "odd-couple" chemistry during their daily interactions in the cartoon. So I just called them teammates, friends, etc.


End file.
